


Heart of Stone

by Neverletgo89



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Nurse/Patient, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV First Person, Percy is grumpy, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Twisted and Fluffy Feelings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-12
Updated: 2017-07-12
Packaged: 2018-09-07 21:49:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8817454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neverletgo89/pseuds/Neverletgo89
Summary: [Percival Graves is found, broken and on the verge of death. Traumatized by Grinderwald's captivity and tortures, will he ever recover?]





	1. Chapter 1

 

 

Going back to work after a month and a half, allowed for moving in her new apartment, had been more traumatic than expected for Olivia. Not just for work shifts, of course unnerving, but above all for the new shocking assignment that her boss gave her. A crowd of journalists asked screaming a couple of questions regarding Mr. Graves before she could overcome the hospital doors, but Olivia cared very little about them. She was not a woman concerned for gossip, but the piece of news, true or not, was written in large letters in the newspaper that half of the town red: **_"Graves: victim or accomplice?"_**. His action photo, printed on the Daily Prophet held by the man standing next to her as she waited for the elevator, was taken for sure a few months before his kidnapping, thought Olivia. Graves in the shooting had the air of a man to whom one could not deny anything, let alone respect. Now, perhaps, those same colleagues who appeared beside him with a proud and dignified air would not even bothered to visit him.

Olivia reached the locker room of the twelve sub-level and changed clothes. The security measures to keep this man away from the public audience had forced the hospital's staff to a rapid change of habits. They dedicated a wing of the department of magical intensive care to Mr. Graves and only Olivia had access to his private room, out of which two Auror big as two professional Quidditch players were standing motionless night and day. Olivia thought that they were probably magical illusions to discourage intruders, who could ever resist so long?

 

The noise of the heels of Olivia on the italian marble floor of the hall reverberated like the ticking of a clock, quick and rhythmic; her boss Montgomery Tigwel had done everything to make her accept the job, even double her salary. Mr. Graves had been a guest of the (MCH)  _Magical Central Hospital of Manhattan_ for two weeks now, but he had already scared half of the nursing department and no woman dared to walk around the ward when the man was awake. Montgomery wrote a brief summary of his medical records  and delivered it to Olivia with an express owl in the middle of the night. That poor man suffered from post traumatic stress, and though his wounds were actually healed he had not been able to walk or even stand. He was angry, unpredictable and tending to violence. He didn't slept or seeked help. He especially did not want to be sedated or to be under a spell of any kind.

 

The first time Olivia arrived in front of his room she knocked with a gentle movement and received no answer. She knocked a second time and a third, until a  hoarse and slurred voice answered from the other side with a _"Leave me alone."_

 

Olivia raised her wand and in a moment the door opened and the room lights were lit, the ocher walls of the hospital did little for that barren and inhospitable environment, though narrow that room was reserved only for him and no other patient could say the same. Mr. Graves was lying in bed, motionless and silent as a ghost. Olivia did not met his gaze entering the room, but out of the corner of her eye she was perfectly aware that he was staring at her.

She looked around, mentally recording everything. The patient's bed was the focal center of the room, in front of him was an enchanted window that broadcast images of what was to be New York at eight in the morning. An Auror would certainly exposed the trick in a blink of an eye and Olivia thought that this was really a cruel joke to a man imprisoned for months: to be put in front of a fake window.

At the foot of the bed there was a small dining table with two chairs, a wardrobe was in a corner and the door that gave access to a private bathroom was on the right. On the side-tables that flanked the bed there were only two things, a lamp and a vase of flowers, hanging dryied with a screen-printed postcard "get well soon, your colleagues" . Sad.

When Olivia steeled herself and looked at him in the eyes she understood perfectly why her colleagues implored her to reconsider the task. His eyes were black and abysmal, staring at her like a cat with dilated pupils, it almost made her blood run cold. Undoubtedly he was studying her. Olivia took a deep breath and held his unrelenting gaze. It was quite logical to think that that man who had his identity stolen , Merlin knows how, didn't trust anybody anymore.

She didn't dare to speak at first, but came up at the side of the bed quietly. She showed him her wand and for a moment watched his eyes becoming glossy and his back stiff, as if he was reading himself to run away or to suffer the worst. But when she threw the wand on the ground, away from both, Mr. Graves's eyes flicked quickly from the floor to those of Olivia, letting go of the breath he'd been holding so far.

 

"I will not hurt you Mr. Graves, you have my word." Olivia broke the silence without breaking eye contact. And though his features were a bit relaxed, Mr. Graves said nothing or moved an inch.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I posted this chapter without doing a orthografical check for mistakes/grammatical errors. Being a non-english speaker is really quite a challange! Please be patient,I'll correct the mistakes as soon as possible ^^'

**Mr. Graves POV:**

 

The Woman showed up again at eight o'clock the next day, she's used to knock on the door as if I didn't knew it was her. I didn't answer, do I have a choice? She would have entered anyway. She came into the room turning on all the lights and she asked me how I felt. I shrugged. I appreciate that she is of few words, I don't like idle chatter. Then she will fell silent. That's how the best part of the day begins: being awake. Sleeping is impossible, not with these nightmares ..

She comes and goes, forward and back around the room, I know she's restless even if she tries to smile and look as calm as possible. I see that she would like to do more but she doesn't know how. I understand the feeling, been stuck in bed for two weeks has reduced my daily routine from " _hundreds of things to do_ " to " _zero_ ". I hate not being able to do what I want, when I want, how I want it done. I'm more than sure that I have a slovenly appearance and an unhealthy complexion , or that woman would not worry so much. Yes, the Woman. I didn't felt obliged to ask her her full name, even if I was used to know everybody's personal intel being head of the magical order department. But I'm not on duty at work, I'm in a damn hospital bed. Here the roles are reversed. But in the end getting to know her  would not make sense. In a few weeks I will be back home, at the department.My true life is there. This woman will forget about me and she'll do her job, attending to another patient. I'm sure. She's pretty and young, I will be only the patient of room 412.

"Mr. Graves?"

her voice rang in my ears and I rushed to look away from her. Apparently I was staring.

"Are you well?"

I look away and clear my throat.

"..water."

She immediately filled the glass by the bed with a fluid gestur of her wand. I drink a sip, just to please her and notice that she approached. She has that pleasant scent of clean and soap on her. I don't think she uses a perfume. I think it's the smell of her skin. I'm staring at her again but this time she says nothing, instead she looks down on her nurse's uniform and  fixies her collar thinking that is out of place. No, it is always impeccably tidy. Even the white circlet with the hospital logo is in perfect balance between her golden brown hair,expertly gathered behind her neck in an updo. I noticed that she wears a pair of cheap earrings today, with her salary as a nurse she can't afford anything better,no doubt . Simple colored glass, worthless. But the mere glitter of stones make her eyes, usually pure light green, look more radiant. Her direct gaze has something innocent, that reminds me of my childhood, I don't know how to explain it...

I'm sure she's not from here, her complexion is olive and her accento strangely unfamiliar, I think she comes from somewhere in the old continent, or at least her relatives.

I felt something touching my forearm and I jumped instinctively. It's her, she's examining the scars on my arm. Her fingers thin,her nails trimmed short and neat, she has no wedding ring. It is a professional bias no doubt, I cannot help but inquire about the people in front of me even it's based on their appearance.

She's not frightened by my sudden movements, by contrast  she continues her work, smiling ruefully. I wonder what she's thinking, even if..is not that relevant, obviously. When she comes near the shoulder and apply some pressure I felt pain and a sensation of cold. She must have noticed my expression because she stopped immediately. She returned with an ointment in a red jar. She gently rubbed the medicine without ever ceasing to be concentrated, blatantly ignoring the fact that I was sitting so close to her I could feel her breathing on my bare skin. Probably there was nothing to be concerned of. She's a healer, she's probably used to have in her care a lot of shirtless men, of course she didn't mind me been so close. The very thought that the situation could be misunderstood did shake me, I looked around restless and impatient.

"Done?" I prompted.

She took a few seconds without looking away from my arm, then smiled, looking at me and nodded.

I felt quite stupid and childish to have rushed her. But she didn't seem upset, she helped me to put my arm into the sleeve of my shirt without saying anything. I refused to let her button me up like I was a child. . She shifted back to the end of the bed, sitting on the chair at the side of the dining table. Where she had left a couple of books and a bag.

She must be few years younger than me, maybe more than a couple. But she looks young and certanly not self-confident.That was clear.

She began to read, I saw her eyes scrolling fast on the words, then she concentrated, and she took her time. Without knowing she offered me the only hobby I could afford: observe. Then her lips parted, she did it every time when she was reading something intriguing. Perhaps no one had even noticed it, but she read quietly to herself when she was deep interasted.

I envied how she managed to exclude the outside world when she was reading. I couldn't even close my eyes at night, let alone concentrate on a book.

A sensation of weariness grabbed me and my head began to spin,I was too weak to even stay awake? I closed my eyes for a bit.

I knew she would bring me breakfast but the thought of eating..made me nauseous. The hospital's food was bland and monotonous as well as colorless.

The clock struck nine, and I knew that it was the fateful moment of cold milk and porridge. But the woman didn't move an inch, she didn't go to take the tray that the servant of the canteen left her out of the room every day. She kept reading. Then, after about ten minutes, she got up from the bed and rummaged in her bag on the table.

I heard the sound of crampled plastic and saw her pull out some cookies in a trasparent sachet and a thermos.She didn't eat the disgusting stuff served here..clever girl.

She sat down and ate the biscuits, drinking what was to be milk and coffee.I was not hungry for days. But the mere smell of something sweet and homemade, made my stomach rumbling which I'm sure she heard clearly. She was hiding a smirk....

I was in utter shame and tried to look everywhere except at her. She had done it on purpose! I was sure about that!

The nurse got up from the table with the book in one hand and the bag of cookies in the other.She left the bag on the bed and without saying a word she left the room, closing the door behind her.

I looked at the door and at the cookies alternately for a few seconds then took one for a quick inspection.It seemed a classic butter cookie, there was not even a shadow of chocolate, powdered sugar or caramel. Yet it had a great smell. I was tempted to try it. But she hadn't offered them to me, she had just left them unattended near me.

I put away the cookie and left them there. Without stopping to stare at them. I was hungry, I finally admitted it to myself.

She went back and looked straight at me with an expression somewhere between the hopeful and anxious, then looking at the cookies and finding them untouched she stopped smiling, and pressed her lips together in a thin line.

"They don't look very inviting mmh? Cooking isn't really my thing."

She reached out to take them away, but I stopped her. As soon as I realized I was touching her hand ,longer than is appropriate, I withdrew mine immediately.

"No, they don't." I replied dryly crossing my arms,  to make it clear that I didn't appreciate her attempt to bribe me with sweets. But I immediately regretted saying it..her face paled in a blink of an eye.

"But, if I don't try one I won't put my finger on what is wrong with them." I explained hastily . She smiled again and I felt my heart sink, she was prettier when she smiled.

"Sure, please. Help yourself Mr. Graves."


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always:
> 
> I posted this chapter without doing a orthografical check for mistakes/grammatical errors. Being a non-english speaker is really quite a challenge! Please be patient,I'll correct the mistakes as soon as possible ^^'

 

 Olivia's shifts went smoothly somehow after that little chatter. Her patient looked less uncomfortable around her and he even accepted to eat a small breakfast, _"every morning at 9 o'clock, mind you!_." Of course he was making the terms and conditions of this "forced arrengement" but Olivia was sure that lettin him believe he was in charge was the best for both of them. She was less stressed out about his condition worsening and he regained an almost healthy look. She was even confident that,with due time,he will be able to walk again. As for now he refused to leave his room.

 

She figured, one day dusting the nightstands, that his condition of immobility was due to a psychological trauma more than a physical one. Every time he thought she wasn't checking on him,he peeked at the picture adjacent to the flower vase. His eyes turned sad and nostalgic every single time. Olivia felt compassion for the man. He was alone since the beginning? not at all. She noticed that: in the picture when he was surrounded by his collegues on the steps of the MACUSA  central building, his eyes darted for a moment to his left were his gaze was met by a blonde. A woman. Maybe his..girlfriend?

Eventually Olivia kept staring at the blond girl at his left  when Mr. Graves wasn't paying attention, imagining what was she like. Was she a nice and skillfull woman? a good and caring lover? what sort of woman would Mr. Graves think suitable? 

Those questions wonder in her head for a while and ,at some point between page 118 and 220 of the annoying book she placed on her lap that morning to pass time, she decide that the blonde was surely a respectable, charming and well mannered upper-class lady. That was surely Mr. Graves's type of woman. He seemed so in need to control every aspect of his life that a suitable woman for him would, _at the very least, be_  beautiful and wealthy. 

She felt sorry for him, she never visited, nobody did.

In that moment she rised her gaze to look from the pages she was ignoring,to the man lying in bed.

Mr. Graves was finally able to sleep quietly and dreamless in the past few days, but only during daylight hours when she was present.

Olivia took off her shoes,left them at the side of the table and got up from the chair quietly. When she reached him, sitting on the side of the bed and smiled content. He had a peaceful expression plastered on his face. His salt&pepper messy hair adorned his features,his lips partially parted, his left hand abandoned onto the soft white pillow. She hoped he could stay like this for a long while,sleeping like a baby.

She brushed the tips of her fingers on his forehead finding it cool and fresh. Her smile brightened a bit more than usual thinking that he was getting well faster and she absentmindedly caressed his cheek with the back of her hand.

Mr. Graves's eyes opened in a flash at that warm touch but when he noticed it was her, he didn't flitch.

"A-ah, sorry, I didn't mean to wake you up Mr. ..."

But she was interrupted by his gestures, he shushed her pressing his finger on his lips.

He stared at her intently with his sleepy eyes until she caressed his face once again.Olivia blushed with a sheepish smile noticing that he was giving her that sort of look purposely to be cuddled; she eventually obliged until she felt him breathing deeply again, eyes closed.

It was in times like this that she wished to asked him _what happened_ , but she always bite her tongue at the idea of reminding him of his imprisonement. His injures gave Olivia enough intel about what happened to him in the past few months.

Four broken ribes, with multiple fractures that were healed and broken again through time; several wounds to the knees and feet, all fingers twisted and almost severed from the hand...he was constantly tortured. She could see in every scar and frail movement of his hands that he suffered a lot more than a man can handle. How could they judge him by how long he endured the pain and survived to tell? he is surely not his accomplice, Olivia though frowning her eyebrows. But aside from the fact that she was convinced about that, she never gave him the impression of having an opinion about it or to be interested in general.He was the chief of MACUSA law & order department, a rigid and composed man, _he won't appreciate me snooping around in his busines_ s, though Olivia covering his shoulders with the blankets. Looking at him Olivia sweared to take care of him at her best and to let him see that there was still good in this world worth living for. 

* * *

 

 It was almost sundown when he wakes up, partially covered by the blankets, feeling well rested. She wasn't by his side no more, even if he could swear to have felt her touch and seen her smile next to him..was it a dream..?

She was now nested into the chair by the table, toying with a rectangular chess box 

She smiled at him noticing his movements and rise to greet him. 

" how are you feeling Mr. Graves?"

" well enough" he grounted, his fingers roaming in his hair.

" care for a game?" She invited him, pointing at the little figurines that were giggling around the table. He stared at her for a while confused, then all the magic chess pieces that were partying around Olivia's hands,tryied to escape the box the moment Percival pointed his cold gaze at them. Then,he smirked, making Olivia's heart skip a beat. His smug face even more handsome than his sleepy one..

" prepare the board. Ah, and prepare yourself... I'm quite the challenge."


	4. Chapter 4

 

The room was wrapped in a warm yellow light, that of a perfect morning spring. The floor was dry and cool under his feet and it did not bother him to go barefoot.

Soon he would have made breakfast, toast and black coffee. The thought of coffee alone made him feel the taste in his mouth and aroma in the air.

In front of the glitteringly shiny mirror of the bathroom he closed the last buttons of his shirt, stopping abruptly to that of the collar. The beard along the neck was too thick and needed to be trimmed.

Mr. Graves inspected the beard with meticulous care, to understand how far he would like to cut it and what form to give it. He thought about it for a few minutes while taking his time warming a small cotton towel under the hot water. Then he stopped and took a solemn decision frowning his eyebrows: no beard. He wanted to feel cool again on the skin and feel the cleanliness of the perfect cut. Clean and tidy, impeccable. As always. How he should have always been-.

 

At the sink edge he found his most faithful friend, his single blade razor with silver handle damascus straight. Handmade, of course. Mr. Graves had a passion for everything that was custom made, handmade, tailor-made, definitely unique and for which artisans, tailors or barbers would lose their mind to accomplish.

For him to have an object that required hours and hours of preparation and study was a guarranty of ephemeral quality, an indispensable prerequisite to his own standards.

Even the exhibitor on which the razor was leaning on was a clever plot of geometric and baroque figures that formed the vague image of a cup.

He stropped the razor blade until it was dangerously sharp and then rested the weapon-like razor on the sink. He opened the mirror cabinet with a quick gesture and took a delicate and smooth pearl shell container, his shaving cream. He opened it slowly like a relic and began to lay it with long blunt brush strokes from the base of the neck to the nostrils.

The familiar smell of fresh menthol and pine impregnated the room, how many times he had recalled those gestures just before reaching the office. He would never give up that daily routine that kept him anchored to the ground, somehow made him relax.

He opened the tap and dipped the knife under the hot water for a few laps, studied each point of his chin and began to shave from the base of the neck by making a fluid and single movement up.

The first pass was impeccable, he passed the blade twice under the water and resumed doing the same gesture. A determined stroke and away with it.

He passed the neck base carefully before taking care of the chin where he encountered some difficulties. The beard seemed thicker and thicker, yet it should not have been so long ... after all, only a few days had passed since the last shave.

Mr. graves frowned. The beard on his cheeks always seemed the same size, worn out and wrinkled, no matter how many times the blade passed or how deep he was pushing the razor onto.

He glanced down at the sink and noticed a drop, a tiny drop of blood falling on the edge of the sink and joining the water forming an oblique strip of red toward the center.

He did not remember cutting himself.

He looked up to the mirror to see where he injured himself and suddenly the light in the room faded. The clear morning sun left room to an unnatural white and blueish color, the wide open door behind him revealed a darkened bedroom that made him feel uneasy. And with the tail of his eye he could see a shadow behind himself, there in the room.A man. Him.

 

"Ready to get back on the streets ah, Percy?"

 

That voice frightened him to death and made a he made a choked cry clinging frantically to the washbasin. How could he be there? he. He could not be him. Mr. graves lowered his head almost to sink under the tap, felt his legs soft and unable to hold him. he had no courage to turn to face him, he was terrified and petrified.

He clenched his teeth as he trembled sweating in fear.

 _No, it was impossible. It was not true!_ He gasped, taking his hands on his face.

The blood,that man's voice, it was too much. His legs surrendered under his weight and Percival found himself on the floor. Face down in a jerk of sobs. He had the fear of crossing that face of his, seeing him there in front of him. Ready to torture him again and again, night and day. Day and night.

_No.._

He could not surrender. He had to scream, yes, call someone.

But his voice was stuck in his throat. Terror sneaking on him like a snake that crushed every nerve, every flap of meat. He could no longer move. He was paralyzed with terror. Grindelwald has returned to finish the job.

  
All he could do was focus on his own shaky breath, waiting for the blow. For the upcoming pain. For a sign that his hour had come.

So when he heard a hand grasp his shoulder he instinctively moved backward until he was with his back against the bathroom tiled wall.

 "Mr graves?"

 

He stopped breathing and then suddenly thrown the air out of his lungs.

The woman was in front of him, her eyes glimmed, a expression of terror on her face. Her hands protruded toward him.

_It was a deception, a trick.No doubt!_

Mr. Graves looked around and faded something under his breath. It was him, it was a trick to make him feel safe.

 

"Mr graves ..." she pleaded

 

What was the truth? Or was there was something he can believe right now?

Suddenly Mrs Graves saw it, the tip of her wand peered from the left side pocket of her nursing jacket. Followed a swift exchange of glances and he was on his feet crushing against her. He did not understand what he was doing and when she realized his intentions it was already too late.

Graves pushed her away with all the strength he had left and saw her roll over to the ground,a few steps away from him.

Her wand in his possession, now he would find out the truth. She had no escape.

 

She stared at him scared and surprised at the same time, but still, she remained quiet and motionless rainsing her hands to surrender.Percival stared at her for a moment taking in her crumpled uniform and messy hair... Those neatly combed hair that he touched a moment ago by pushing her away. The sensation of her soft curles still ghosted on his fingertips.

 

"Who are you, what do he want you to do with me?" he shouted.Grindelwald had to have a plan for that woman.

With eyes shining of paranoia and terror, Mr. Graves pulled himself to his feet leaning against the doorpost of the bathroom door and yelled

"Revelio!"

   
Then again.

   
"Revelio!" And again and again as long as he had breath,until disappointment and rage hit him and he throw the wand to the ground so violently that he broke it in two.

 

"If you think you can trick me, you're wrong!"

 

He left the room. His hands were sweating and he felt an unnatural lack of vigor in his limbs, as if he barely managed to take a few steps without feeling tired.

Two men were hanging at his door and looked at him with alarmed air.

 

"Mr. Graves, everything's okay sir?"

 

They approached him and he took them off accelerating the step.

 

The voice of the woman clanged in his ears more and more distant.

He hastened to fear of getting caught, but when he came to the end of the lit hallway he realized that he didn't know where to go. There were no doors, no elevators or stairs. Nothing on sight but a large window with a view of the crowded square below.

Streets.

He could hear the no-maj's car noises and their confused gaggle. They were people, real people.

He walked to the window and stared at that noisy road for a while, all those man and women unaware of his presence.

As a slap in his face, his memories smacked on him. He was in the hospital, he was still there. He had never gone away. He had never returned to his apartment...and he never had his razor blade with him or his casual clothes on.

He fell to the ground in what had to be a gray pajamas with striped pants and looked at his own reflection on the window, his face was scratched and bloody. What he had done to himself?

 

"Mr. Graves!"

 

The woman's voice starled him and he turned to look at her with a lost and terrified expression.

He savoured something salty in his mouth. He hadn't realized he was crying for all that time.

 

"What's happening to me?" sobbed hiding his face between his hands as if it were enough to erase every memory.

Then he felt an unmistakable scent of soap and fresh lavender, heat, and something that held him tight. That was the woman. She was kneeling next to him, embracing him. She clutched him as a friend, as if she had known him for a long time. Mr. Graves abandoned his head on her shoulder and his nose in the bowl of her neck. She did the same and Percival felt her lips brush his neck, she was smiling.

 

"It's all right, just a little incident with the beard, sir ..." she joked.

 

"Ah!" Spat mr graves shaking his head against his shoulder, desperately trying to stop crying his eyes out "... lame joke, doctor ..."

 

"Nurse." she corrected him smiling and keeping him in her embrace.

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not sure i'll develop this into a story due to work, but i had the idea all day long in my head and i had to write it down XD hope you like it :D


End file.
